STRONG ENOUGH
by Amandah Leigh
Summary: The Battle at Hogwarts is over. The castle has been nearly destroyed, and only two are left standing. When one begs the other for mercy in the form of death, can the other comply? What if it's a trick? Or worse - what if it's not? DRAMIONE drabble


Written in response to the follow on the Dramione Fanfiction Forum FB page:

The rules are simple:  
1) Write us a drabble using the prompts in the picture. You must use each prompt verbatim to qualify.  
2) Pairing must be Dramione.  
3) Drabble must be between 100-1000 words.  
4) Drabble must be submitted before midnight EST on Saturday.

The theme for this challenge is "Battle of Hogwarts".  
Words/phrases in the picture: Rubble | Stupify | Apple | "Why would they want me?"

(This came out to 1000 words exactly.)

* * *

 **STRONG ENOUGH**

Dead Death Eaters, dead students, dead Order members, dead Ministry officials... they all looked the same in the aftermath, indistinguishable from each other and, in countless cases, lost to the rubble.

Hermione stood looking up at what once was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A window remained. A tower. A door. But there were no connections. The window was no longer in a wall. The tower had no turrets. The door led nowhere.

"It wasn't supposed to end like this," a soft voice said. Hermione whipped around, wand at the ready, to find herself face to face with Draco Malfoy. The enemy.

"You can kill me if you want to. Or aren't you strong enough?"

He was not taunting her. On the contrary, he almost looked like he might beg for it.

"I could stupify you," she said.

He nodded.

"You could. My father's body is over there." He pointed somewhere to the left, where the Great Hall had been. "I spent my entire early childhood hearing about how I was just like him in every way. Looks, beliefs, mannerisms. I never felt more pride than when his longtime acquaintances would clap me on the shoulder, look to him, and say 'The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.'"

"You're just like him, then." Hermione's gaze fell over the Dark Mark forever burned into his forearm. The sleeve of his shirt had been torn off. He was as filthy as she was, from his hair to his shoes, and he looked as weary and overtired as she was, too.

"I'm just like him. A Death Eater. A pureblood supremacist. A murderer." He shook his head. "No, not a murderer. Even when Dumbledore stood before me, arms open with no defenses, I couldn't kill him. It's not easy to take a life. I'm not strong enough." He slipped his wand from his back pocket. She immediately raised hers, on guard again.

"I'm not strong enough," he repeated. He tossed his wand to the ground before her feet. "Are you?"

"Do you want me to kill you, Malfoy?"

"I don't want to fight for the Dark Lord anymore."

"Come to our side, then." Hermione brushed her hair from her face with the back of her hand. Was the stickiness she felt there from sweat, or from blood? "The Order's not gone. Dumbledore's army is not defeated. Harry may be gone, but your dark lord is wounded. He's weak. You can help up stop him. You can join the Order."

"Why would they want me? You said it yourself. I'm just like him. My father. My father, who died for this cause."

"You don't have to die for it too, Malfoy."

He shrugged. She wiped her forehead again. The sticky stuff was getting in her eye. Definitely blood. Now the question was: her own, or someone else's?

"I saw you."

"You saw me when?" She kept her wand trained on him, her eyes darting back and forth, her ears listening for approaching footsteps. Surely, others were alive. Surely they weren't the only two left. She needed to believe what she told him was true, that Dumbledore's Army and the Order had survivors. That she wouldn't be the only one to walk away from this.

"On the platform. Nine and three quarters. The first of September, 1991. Your hair was bushier then and your front teeth were bigger."

Instinctively, she clamped her mouth shut, remembering that overbite and how her parents insisted she fix it with braces, not magic. Thankfully, magic prevailed before the braces were put on.

"I was staring at you. I thought you were cute. Mother thought it was funny. She said, 'Not even on the train yet and he fancies a girl. He's most definitely your son, Lucius.' Then you were Sorted into Gryffindor. I learned you were Muggleborn. You struck up a friendship with Potter and Weasley. Mother wrote me, 'Draco, darling, should we start planning your wedding to the little brunette now, or wait until you can talk to girls without getting tongue-tied?' She loved to tease me. I didn't have the heart to tell her you were a Mud..." He broke off. "She found out eventually, of course, as made me promise I'd never bring home a Muggleborn. She said it still hurt to think of her estranged sister, she refused to lose her son."

"She didn't have to lose her son." Though Hermione found all this... interesting... she also couldn't trust he was genuine. What if he was trying to lull her into a false sense of security?

"She would have chosen me over anything. Over her parents, over Father. She was killed by her own sister - Bellatrix, not Andromeda - when it was discovered she'd lied to the Dark Lord about Potter being dead. Her last words were, 'just don't hurt Draco.'"

"I'm sorry." It was the truth. Hermione was indeed sorry. She was sorry, and she was scared, and she was numb. Why wasn't anyone coming? Not Order members, not Dumbledore's army, not even other Death Eaters. Surely they couldn't all be gone.

"I think we're the only ones left," Draco whispered. He sat on the ground, staring up at her. "Will it be easier if I close my eyes? It's just two words and a flash of green light. I know you're capable, Granger, but are you strong enough?"

"No," she whispered. Strong enough to take a life? To take his life? Like this? She slipped her own wand into what was left of her messy bun and plopped to the ground, facing him. His eyes remained closed. Hers barely blinked. She reached out, though, and took his hand. He sniffled. A fat tear escaped the corner of his eye, leaving a clean streak down his dirty cheek.

"Please?" he whispered. "I can't live like this."

"No," she said. She did not release his hand. "I'm sorry, Draco. I may be capable. but I am _not_ strong enough."


End file.
